Fractional
by triffickie
Summary: Pre-ESB, Han and Leia share looks. POV's, rather short. Enjoy. :)


**Fractional **

_By Vera Priscaleth_

_Disclaimer: George Lucas came up with them and wrote the original story, and we're all glad he did so. This story is done in no purpose of making money, so don't sue me. This text, however, belongs to me, so e-mail me if you wish to redistribute it or use it._

_Author's Notes: My first Star Wars-fanfic, so yay for me. Seen the original trilogy twice plus the prequels, so can't say my Star Wars-knowledge is at its top. Still, I have read some inspiring fanfiction, so big thank you's to those great writers. Also thanks to Izie for support, and the beta-readers; Danaka, Jedi Catriona and Luet. _

**Fractional has two parts, first Leia's POV and then Han's. Time that this fic takes place is not too long before the beginning of ESB. Enjoy.**

The Gaze//Part One

     There was this sparkle in his eyes.  This gleam, it intrigued me with its mystery. I couldn't read his emotion; I couldn't tell what was on his mind when he looked at me. I tried to detect it from his other features, his mouth, his eye-brows, the way he stood there as if he was repairing something, his eyes still fixed on me. Mischievous or teasing, asking or waiting. I wondered how I could read that face, that sparkle, that smile. It was captivating, but I didn't want to admit that.

     I noticed his look again, our eyes met and I didn't turn my head away. His eyes were curious, so I was forced to look away. He had caught me  staring at him for a disturbingly long moment. I didn't know how to react; he had probably taken my gaze as a sign of great interest. Perhaps even as a sign of attraction. I lifted my head and walked on, feeling his stare on my back as I left the hall. It wasn't shame or embarrassment that I felt, it was more like confusion. 

     These looks that we were exchanging, they were so different from the words that we usually spat out at each other. The words were sarcastic, sharp insults that flew between us. We didn't have conversations, we had arguments. They only ended with one of us storming out or some other telling us to calm down or split it up. I always calmed down right away, but he never felt like stopping. 

     Once he even laughed and pointed out sarcastically that we had once again witnessed the temper of a royalty and that it surely melted the snow inside. I had understood his implication of me being made of ice and had shot him with a clever comeback. He did drive me up the walls sometimes. 

    But then, there were the quiet moments. The moments when off-guard we passed each other in the evenings, by accident. He'd look at me and nod, and I'd nod back and our eyes followed each other. Sometimes I'd smile faintly, completely taken by the surprise of seeing him. And he'd smile back. That was it. The quiet moments I found myself treasuring way too much. Sometimes I wondered what would happen if he'd for once, just for once, act like how he does during the quiet moments. His expression seems so kind and nice during those moments. 

    There were times when I could interpret his looks. I could always see when he was thinking about his leaving. It would come someday, I kept reminding myself. Sometimes he looked sorry, but I knew that he wasn't going to stick around forever. Besides, what was there to be sorry about, I asked myself. I didn't need him, this place did. We did. The Rebellion. It was hard to imagine this place without him. Without the sparkle.

    I woke up from my thinking to realize my hands were getting cold. I tucked them inside my pockets and continued walking. I shouldn't be thinking. Thinking about him, watching him, it's all so unimportant, really. Something told me I shouldn't be doing it, like this silly feeling of insecurity of that it would make me vulnerable. It wasn't something I'd often think about, but it made me feel a bit down. I sighed silently, and watched the mist that came from my breathing in this frozen environment disappear. Technical peeping sounds from a familiar repair-droid became louder and I soon saw it appear behind the corner. My hands were getting cold again.  A thought of his skin against mine swept across my mind, but I shook it off. Confusion melted away. For a while.

The Sparkle//Part Two 

Whenever she looks at me that intensively, I have to wonder. What does she see? And why does she just keep looking? 

   Attraction? Might be. Affection? Seriously doubt it. Interest? Why would she be interested, I ask myself. For all I know, this lady always thinks high of herself. She stands on her dais, and looks down on others. The lower class, guys like me. That's what mostly angers me about her. Her Worship, the Princess.. All these titles people, but also myself, use to make it clear that she's on top and we're below.

   To tell you the truth, it's not that bad anymore. She's suffered, a lot. She's not a young Princess anymore. She's got this whole place to run and keep in control. And she does that well. Her Worship is work-orientated, maybe even to a fault.  That's why I like to tick her off once in a while. It's not often enough that she laughs, but sometimes with me, she just has to. Perhaps the cockiness I seem to act so well gets to the point where it becomes amusing. Or then she hates me. 

   I wanna keep my feet on the ground here, not imagine things that aren't and that will never be, but she does gaze to my direction a lot. Cafeteria, while I'm fixing the ship and she walks by, in the icy hallways… And I look back; I just can't help but stare into her eyes. She doesn't look for this long, ever. She usually turns her head, as if she'd just realized what she was doing. Once again, my theory of her self-concept of being too regal for even looking at the common folk is proven right. There are times when I wished I could dump my theory, get rid of it. I wish she wasn't like that. 

   She's still looking my way, my eyes meet hers. I give her an asking glance. I end up regretting it right away. She turns away, walks on. The moment is broken. The moment when our eyes meet and they don't receive a glare or a scowl. The moments when our mouths don't say a thing, not a single comment to throw at the other. The interesting, quiet, moments.  

  The thing that angers me the most is that we just don't seem to get along. For the sake of the Rebellion, for the sake of the other people in this Base, for the sake of myself and her, I wish we would. I hardly ever come to analyze it, but I guess we are just too different. Maybe if we'd talk for a while, just the two of us and no nasty insults, we'd find out there is something. That's impossibility, however. Never would Her Worship sit down and have a chat about her inner most thoughts and traumas with the Captain of, as she so graciously puts it, "the biggest heap of junk in the universe". It would become the loudest argument between us ever. Why would I want that?

  It makes me laugh to admit it, but I do actually like arguing with her. I just tease her about something; she throws back an icy comment, usually to back off, I continue, she gets upset, her face red with anger and her eyes narrowing at me. It's a pretty sight. She is, most of the time. No, she's always beautiful. It was killing me. Not just her beauty, which shone every minute of the day, but everything about her. I wanted her. Not just the physical way, even though the passion dwelling for her inside me was becoming unbearable. She was just amazing. 

  Hell with it, what could I do? Couldn't tell her, that's for sure. I've got a soft spot, and if she would to find out what it was, she'd have something to spit at me when the time of an argument would rise. I couldn't let that happen. She made me loose this perfect control that I used to have over myself. I was a smuggler, one that cared for nobody but himself, fearless, sure of himself. I was slipping from it, and I needed shields. Cockiness comes natural for me, but the cockiness that infuriates her, that's just an act. My shield, barrier. 

  Chewie growled something my way, so I looked up and noticed the frustrated wookie. I had lost myself in my own mind and Chewbacca had been growling for my help for some time no. I apologized to the old friend and got back to work. I look at the Falcon and fall into my own thinking again. I have to leave.  Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But soon. I think she's guessed I'm going. She's probably glad to get rid of me. Why wouldn't she be? And even if she felt something towards me, her pride would get in the way and she would never admit it. Just like my pride. 

So maybe we aren't that different, after all. 


End file.
